The Phone Call

doors locked, I waited,
no thoughts seemed to flow,
I heard doors jam, jingle, but
no one could enter, my brain
loose, the blood
drying, my chest
bare, still I waited
for her to call.

what to do? an
attack, blunt, brutal,
and then what of her?

police would plod
precariously at first, their
little detective minds
sensing debacle, sly smiles
giving thoughts away, they
would know within seconds.

but she called,
I listened,
she had the kids,
she found a motel,
she spoke the "love
you" words, and she
pleaded: don't call
the cops, we can work it.

after, I wondered: the guy
was out there, the town
slept, and his crazy-fried
brain just might try
again.